


Unfathomable Affection

by BrokePerception



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:05:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokePerception/pseuds/BrokePerception
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He couldn’t not love this witch; being away from her made him realize. HP/MM</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

BETA READ by _Holly Phoenix_

* * *

Chapter 1

Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Boy-Who-Survived… He remembered how his heart had felt less constricted, just a little lighter, when she said that it was good to see him, her voice ever so soft – softer than he had heard, despite her addressing him by his last name.  It surely had been good to see her. He had been glad when he had seen the others, too: Neville, Ginny… but McGonagall had been special indeed. _Special_ , by lack of words better fitting for it. He hadn’t anticipated it, had really lain awake pondering over it until days later, but reckoned what he had felt – still felt – was true, no matter how ridiculous it would sound to others.

With this very realization, he had gently let Ginny down, saying that too much had changed and that he didn’t believe they could continue any longer as a couple. He hadn’t thought he loved her the same way she loved him any longer. She deserved more than just that. She had regretted it, of course. He had seen the pain in her eyes when she had weakly smiled – maybe insightful – and had just nodded, telling him that she hoped for the boy, the _man_ ’s happiness no matter what.

With this very realization and the fact that he wanted to know just how she was doing now, seeing it from the first hand, not hearing it from anyone else, Harry had gathered his courage and gone to St. Mungo’s, where he had been told upon his arrival Miss McGonagall was away for a few tests but would return soon. The nurse at the desk had been helpful enough. She had given him McGonagall’s room number, offering him to await her there – telling him that it wouldn’t take long.

So Harry had seated himself there then, occupying the chair beside where he supposed her bed would normally be, leaning his head against the wall behind him, his mind somehow wandering to Hogwarts. With McGonagall still gone, he suspected that not much yet would have been rebuilt. He, too, suspected that, based on the little he knew about her, Minerva McGonagall would most likely have questioned her doctors on release already, in order to get to Hogwarts. He guessed that he should be glad to know they had at least managed to keep her at St. Mungo’s for four days already – or maybe her condition was so bad that she had not been able to fight it. His intestines curiously tightened at the very thought of it, or so it felt.

Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry hadn’t felt like “home” much when he had returned there, what with two known Death Eaters on the staff and the way in which they ruled reminding him of slavery. As McGonagall pushed him aside before anyone had the chance even and the smell of her perfume had wafted in his smelling nostrils, the challenge in her eyes had been visible, Harry had concluded that she, at least, hadn’t changed even one bit – that the little that reminded him of home still, was at least partially Minerva McGonagall. It had felt like a concentration camp and from the little that he had heard from Neville, it hadn’t been very far from… He wondered how it might have been, had Snape not been on their side after all. He caught himself wondering… how much nastiness that he had always shown to his pupils had been really necessary not to get suspicious, and how much had been by will? He regretted not being able to ask any longer. He regretted not being able to say or ask a lot anymore, though once Hogwarts was rebuilt, maybe he might receive a portrait. At that very moment, Harry resolved to make sure Severus Snape got his own frame, beside Dumbledore.

Dumbledore and McGonagall had been the very best of comrades – or so he and many others had thought. At first, Harry had really thought they were a married couple, considering how they behaved. There were no kisses, no hugs… at least none he had ever seen. However, there had been a _something_ between them. He still remembered the day he found they were not. When McGonagall had caught him flying over the rooftops of the school after Malfoy, Harry had been terrified to be sent home on the first train. He had recounted his fears to Ron later, saying that he had been very relieved indeed, for McGonagall would most likely have convinced her husband to kick him from Hogwarts if necessary. Fred had joined the conversation then, not giving his younger brother a chance to reply, smiling wide and saying they were not married or even together to anyone’s knowledge, followed by George saying  he was glad for it – they were loving enough already for not being a couple; he couldn’t imagine how it might have been then. That was, of course, before anyone knew about Grindelwald and what the old headmaster had once harbored in feelings for him. Harry had never asked them or known just how Fred and George had known with great certainty that they were not together. Had they known of Dumbledore’s homosexuality? It mattered little in the end.

He wondered, if McGonagall and Dumbledore had been so close, why she had never been told anything. McGonagall had accepted him acting on Dumbledore’s orders without a doubt, never even knowing until later how or why. It showed of great confidence in Dumbledore at least; in _him_. He suspected maybe he had had his reasons; maybe Hogwarts had been the main one for him not to tell her anything. Neville Longbottom had mentioned McGonagall having tried to keep everyone safe with all that she had…


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Minerva sighed audibly when the door to her room fell shut, finally leaving her alone with Harry. “How are you feeling? You look…” he began, eying her with worry from the side of the bed. He watched as she slowly turned her head back at him, her teal green depths gazing at him in wonder for a moment – wonder, he thought. He couldn’t find a word more suitable now.

“I’m listening,” she said, her eyebrow quirked mildly, in that typical professorial manner.

“You look rather tired and pale,” he said with the honesty he had inherited right from his mother. To his great surprise, she nodded, although she said nothing at all. His eyes slid over her face and the rest of her not covered by the thin light blue hospital sheet. McGonagall’s hands lay folded together just below her rising and steadily falling bosom. They looked slightly bruised and dry still – he remembered seeing the cuts on them after the battle. The one on her cheek had healed nicely, though it really had seemed deep – only if you eyed her closely, you could see the thin white scar that would most likely disappear entirely sometime, too. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” he added, watching her to see her reaction right away as it came. She remained perfectly quiet, countenance unchanged. He continued, the silence between them unbearable, “When I saw all those who had died, then you… I couldn’t bear it.” He wished that she would just speak, say no matter what. He felt stupid for saying this; weak.

“I know what you must have thought then,” she said. “You thought, you feared, Voldemort had been right saying we would never be able to win this war. You feared that everyone would regret not letting you go when he offered so, feared that it might have saved more innocent. I’m afraid it wouldn’t have; Tom Riddle was a very dishonest wizard; very selfish, too. He only became more so as Lord Voldemort, exhilarated by the thought of having followers.”

Harry nodded, then eyed his former Head of House meaningfully. “I always suspected you cared a great deal more than you let believe, but the scream surprised me. I never would have thought to hear that, from you,” he admitted. “It ran through morrow and bone. Whenever I recall it, I… You jumping between me and Snape then– I would have done the same for you, though. I can’t imagine ever losing you; for you have always been there – which is all weird, because I know so very little about you at all. I never knew how powerful that you were, until the Battle. I’ve never seen anyone cast three Patronusses at once. I wonder how you do it really. I already have to try so hard just to create a one.”

Minerva remained quiet. He seemed to have a lot to say, after all. When he didn’t continue, she did, “I’ve worried a lot over my Marauders,” she admitted, weakly waving her hand at Harry upon his look of surprise upon her using the term. “I’ve worried endlessly over you and Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger, though. Albus always tried to reassure me, but you three seemed to always find trouble so easily – even more than your own father and his pals, and that’s surely something. When you were entered into the Triwizard Tournament… I really tried to stop Albus from letting you compete, but he wouldn’t listen. I didn’t sleep much that night. The Diggory boy died. Voldemort intended it to be you. It could have been you and would have been, had it not been for your wands.”

Harry wondered where all this was coming from; he didn’t see the professor in Transfiguration as a woman who easily spoke of her thoughts or her emotions. He just nodded, for he could do little more than agree.

“How’s everyone else?” Minerva asked, settling a bit better.

“Err,” Harry began, not really having expected the question, no idea about what answer he needed to give her. He could barely say they were all perfectly fine. Many lives had been lost; it wouldn’t be fair to them or to the grief they felt, the missing, to say just that. “Everyone… manages,” he concluded. The word fitted somehow. The times were difficult, but they all pulled through in their own little way; this with a tear sometimes, or more. “Ron and Hermione left early this morning to go look for her mom and dad in Australia. She initially wanted to go just on her own, said that she had to do it alone; but Ron wouldn’t have it, and I’m glad that he finally convinced her not to… She Obliviated their memories and tried to keep them safe by sending them to Australia with fake ones instead so they never even knew they had a daughter anymore,” he added upon seeing the look of confusion upon her face.

“Miss Granger’s very capable,” Minerva mused, “though you don’t seem very happy about her and Mr. Weasley, or am I sadly mistaken?”

Harry was a bit shocked. Dumbledore had already inquired after him and Hermione once, too. “She’s more like a sister,” Harry said, but he was not given a chance to say more, because the door to her room opened, followed by a familiar Healer bustling in. Harry thought that she might be the same one who had taken her back to her hospital room earlier.

“I come to give the professor a bath,” she announced.

Harry immediately got to his feet, nearly causing the chair he had occupied to topple over. Part of him wanted to still be there and see with his own eyes the bruises that undoubtedly littered the length of her. He doubted whether he would have been much reassured, though – maybe rather the opposite. The last he wanted was to make Minerva feel embarrassed or uncomfortable, though. “I err…” he muttered.

“I’m glad that you chose to stop by today,” Minerva said.

“No worries,” Harry said. “I could come by again tomorrow if you would like it?”

“Ah,” she began, words and all questions about Ginny and anything else dying on her lips. She merely… nodded, surprising both herself and the man that stood by her bed. He had become a man, no doubt. The traces of youth had left his face and body through the full year running for his life with his best comrades.

He nodded, turning and leaving the room. No hugs, no kisses, not even goodbyes were exchanged between them – they were not necessary. He would be there again tomorrow. He would see her again tomorrow. However, as he slowly began walking the length of the hallway in order to leave St. Mungo’s, he wondered in how much pain she must have been, given Minerva’s unusual openness. He doubted it had anything at all to do with him.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Minerva McGonagall was awake when he entered her hospital room the next day in the early afternoon. He moved to the chair beside her bed which he had occupied yesterday, too. It didn't seem to have moved at all from where he had awkwardly pushed it against the wall again when the old nurse had come in to give her a bath, and he wondered whether she had had visits prior to his yesterday or not even that. He assumed that she had no living family members left. Madame Pomfrey, maybe? Professors Flitwick and Sprout both were hospitalized there, too. The Weasleys had been so occupied. Who would have visited otherwise?

"Good afternoon," Harry whispered, when she didn't seem to have noticed him enter her room. He really doubted if that was the case, though. She was incredibly perceptive; always had been and always would. He began to get worried when she didn't reply or turn her head to face him after a little while longer, and he opened his mouth to ask whether she was all right, when she suddenly spoke.

"Good afternoon," she offered, finally turning her head to look at him with those unique teal green eyes. He wondered whether she had been crying until then, noticing the slight redness and puffiness underneath. She seemed still pale, still weak. He never dared to say so, though. He wondered why she had not spoken any sooner; had she been gathering her wits? "I'm sorry, I got lost in thoughts," she apologized.

"That's alright," he replied. "You've had a rough year, too."

"True."

He reckoned that her thoughts must have trailed to the last horrible months, like his so often did. They trailed often to Malfoy Manor, to the terrible screams that Hermione released when Bellatrix had been questioning her, torturing her. When he returned to the now once again, head shaking as if willing to shake the memories away for now, too, McGonagall eyed him rather curiously. "I'm sorry," he said. "I…"

"That's alright," she said. A warm smile passed between them both. "I wonder where your thoughts were, though. I can't begin to imagine in any way where you and Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger might have been all year hunting those Horcruxes," she said, her voice stronger than just a day prior despite her still appearing unwell, but not less kind. She seemed sympathetic instead.

Harry eyed her, doubting whether to tell her or not. "Malfoy Manor," he admitted when the openness in teal green didn't disappear. "We were caught by Snatchers, lead by Fenrir Greyback, close to Easter, and taken there when one of them recognized Hermione from a picture in The Daily Prophet."

"How come that you were not recognized?" Minerva wondered.

"Hermione," Harry replied, then elucidated. "She managed to use a Stinging Hex on me just in time. That saved our lives, I reckon – even Draco didn't recognize me. When Bellatrix suddenly noticed that the Sword of Godric Gryffindor, which was supposed to be safe in her vault at Gringotts, was in our possession, we were all sent down to the dungeons, with the exception of Hermione. We heard her scream, not able to do anything…"

"Bellatrix tortured her."

Harry nodded, sighing deeply. "The Cruciatus and…" He couldn't say it. She might not have wanted Minerva to know. He still remembered the great reluctance with which Hermione had slowly pulled her sleeve over her elbow when he and Ron continued to ask about what had happened. It would scar forever, Hermione had said, then moved into her room at Shell Cottage once more. The he wondered how she had known. "How–?" he began.

McGonagall weakly waved her hand. "I've taught her," she said. "Bellatrix Lestrange – Bellatrix Black as I knew her – had always been eccentric. She was never very kind, nor very stupid. I'm afraid that the fact that she's rather powerful has never been an advantage for any of those falling victim to her. I know what Bellatrix Lestrange was capable of doing."

"You've experienced it, too," Harry said; it was by no means a question, rather a sudden observation. She nodded. He could have guessed, given McGonagall was part of the Order of the Phoenix right from the beginning already. He wondered about the circumstances, but was intelligent enough to let it all rest. Bellatrix Lestrange was gone; it wouldn't do to keep reminding her victims of her deeds.

She settled a bit better, opening her mouth to say something more, when she instead began to cough at the dryness in her throat. She hadn't done a lot of talking lately, after all. Harry stood, reaching over her body to take the pitcher and glass from the table that was by the other side of the bed. As he did so, he felt Minerva's full bosom rise and fall against his torso. His cheeks were tainted red, and Harry just refused to look at her upon filling the glass halfway, handing it to her.

Sitting down on the chair again, pitcher in hand still, Harry waited until he heard the glass connect with the wood of the table and eyed her once more, watching as she retracted her hand, having set the tall glass down on the table. She reached for the pitcher in his hand. "I could have managed it alone," she said.

"I… I know," Harry muttered, watching as Minerva set the pitcher back, too. "I just wanted to help."

"I'm sure," she said, tone not necessarily annoyed. He couldn't say what it held. It might have been said in defense, maybe? Pride? "However, there's no need. I don't need to be coddled over. I wonder why I'm still here, too – I'm well enough."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Harry hadn't had a better night of sleep in months, he thought. He couldn't say what might have caused it. Kreacher had made him a nice dinner, but then again he always had, so that couldn't be it then either. He had gotten an owl from Ron and Hermione rather late, saying that they had gotten to Australia just fine and they would begin searching the next day. He couldn't really say when the note might have been sent, given the great time difference and distance. Who knew how long the poor owl might have been flying to deliver this note? He doubted that had been it, too, though.

A letter from Ginny had been awaiting him upon his return from St. Mungo's as well the night prior, saying that she hoped he was okay and that Mrs. Weasley had said he could always return to The Burrow. He had left the Weasleys' the day Hermione and Ron left for Australia. He hadn't wanted to be a bother, had said he wanted to renovate Grimmauld Place to the best of his abilities, and as soon as remotely possible, given it would most likely be his definite home. That had not been a lie. He had inherited it, after all. By no means would he ever return to Private Drive. Mr. and especially Mrs. Weasley had offered him more than once to stay at least a bit longer, but he had needed the solitude, the peace… He needed to grieve, too. He had grieved over Sirius alone at Privet Drive; Harry had learned to do it best alone. He felt closer to Sirius there, somehow to his mother and father, to who he himself was maybe. He had answered the letter negatively, hoping for all their wellbeing, too.

Once all the Death Eaters had been caught and imprisoned in Azkaban, he would send the Dursleys word to tell them that they could return home to Little Whinging if desired. He supposed that they had rather liked living there once. He would never consider to live with them, nor even contact them ever again, though. He would make a home from Grimmauld Place once more – that was his goal.

He doubted whether the Death Eaters still on the run would be able to cause a fuss even a tenth the disaster that Voldemort had at Hogwarts, but still. He reckoned that most of the Wizarding folk would still feel more reassured to know they were locked away forever somehow, Harry included. He didn't fear for his life; but too many innocent had had to suffer already. A bit of peace was… needed; indeed needed.

Last he had heard from Kingsley Shacklebolt, appointed to Minister for Magic within mere hours after the end of the battle, he had mentioned that only half a dozen were left to be caught, and that he had good hope to do so with the Aurors that had survived and were not too injured to join the search and a few volunteers, like Percy Weasley. Harry had volunteered, too – but Kingsley had said he had done enough already. He had sent the Weasleys word occasionally; sure that they would inform those who wanted, or/and had business, to know.

He knocked on the door to McGonagall's hospital room, unsurprised to hear nothing from her. He thus entered the room right away, finding it strangely abandoned. Harry didn't need to ask at the desk to know she had left the institution with no intention to return at all. He didn't have to ponder very long to already know where she must be either. _Damn_. That woman was really unbelievable.

He turned to leave again and made his way down the hallway to the stairs. Of course, he could have guessed. He _should_ have guessed. She had mentioned just yesterday that she felt staying there much longer was unnecessary.

Bolting down the stairs two at a time, Harry loudly cursed. The ruins of Hogwarts weren't even safe! If she thought about it all rationally, she herself would know! He, however, doubted whether her unbelievable stubbornness ever would have made room for any rationalism in the matter at hand. Of course, she would say that she would be perfectly fine. Of course, she would say she knew how to remain unharmed. No matter what she said, he doubted her being perfectly fine.

Nonetheless, his mind was set as he Apparated; to Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, to Minerva McGonagall – or what remained of both after the Battle.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

His gaze slid over the ruins of Hogwarts. Even from the distance, he could see the scope of the damage the castle had suffered. He knew that the inside looked most likely worse. Harry could see bits and pieces missing from the many towers and turrets, the walls… debris were scattered across the lawn. He knew that a broken woman was somewhere within this rubble, too.

He sighed and advanced slowly to the gates. Upon passing through them, he felt a strange sort of magic settle upon him, then disappear as if by a breeze of wind. It had been fleeting, making him wonder if it really had been there or not. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had always been secured magically by charms and other spells. He supposed that the professors of the school – if not McGonagall herself – had charmed the domain when the last left. He wondered where the owls and House-Elves were. They must have fled the castle and its domains as well, but… where to? Maybe the Forbidden Forest? Maybe with Aberforth Dumbledore? That seemed rather unrealistic, though. He had no idea of how many House-Elves (had) worked at Hogwarts, but he doubted they ever would have fitted in at the Hog's Head Inn. McGonagall might know; Harry resolved to ask at the first opportunity. He would most likely forget it, though. He knew his mind and ability to forget about such.

His eyes fell upon the tomb of Albus Dumbledore, shimmering in the afternoon May sun. He forced himself to look away, eyes falling upon the ruins of Hagrid's hut – if you could call it ruins. There was nothing much left of it, after all. How many times had he been at that door, coming to visit with the literally gigantic Domain and Key Keeper? Hagrid had come by at the Weasleys' a couple of times after the final battle, but had no idea where he was currently staying at. With Olympe, maybe; Madame Maxime? He laughed at the mere thought of them. Even he and McGonagall would seem more reasonable as a couple than those two. After all, he had seen far worse combinations than he and Minerva McGonagall would be, no matter age difference of so many years. She still looked good enough for her age to be kind, awe-inspiring if he were honest with himself… her austere beauty effectively catching everyone's eye no matter their age. He remembered seeing her with her graying ebony hair down at the Yule Ball; remembered observing the way in which it nicely curled at the end, making him suspect it to be naturally curly in all. He wondered if he would ever see it like that.

He suspected that few would see her as attractive in a way he did: sexually so. It wasn't only about her beauty. Harry Potter liked who she was: her courage, her intelligence… her personality, or the little he knew of it, at least. It would most likely show to be the reason why they could never be together, though. He wasn't hoping to tell her at that moment – ever. He wasn't hoping to let her know of what he felt for her, let alone _ask_ her to even consider a relationship with a man forty-odd years younger than her. It just… happened.

Her personality, her past and her education, her childhood and the values taught by her family… it would never even allow her to consider getting involved with him or another still recent pupil of hers… who was more than three times younger than her as well; nearly four. His head shook with regret. That was who she was. It wouldn't suit her professorial attitude. He couldn't dislike her over that; she wouldn't have been Minerva McGonagall otherwise, the woman he adored.

He pushed against the doors of the fabled institution, watching as the oak soon gave way to the Entrance Hall, leading off to… _No_. He wouldn't give in; for if he did, the image of seeing Remus and Tonks lying there would break him once more – seeing Fred, Colin Creevey. She wouldn't be there either way. He didn't know how he knew, but she wouldn't… He knew. Somehow, he knew.

He made his way to the large staircase, when the ghost of Gryffindor Tower appeared, floating through a wall. "Harry Potter!" Nearly Headless Nick exclaimed. "The Castle isn't entirely safe or stable, I fear. You shouldn't be here."

Harry halted. "I doubt that Professor McGonagall really care either earlier," he said. "She was gone from her room already at St. Mungo's when I got there to visit. I didn't have to doubt one second where she would be. I know that the castle has not been cleared thus far and isn't entirely stable. I, however, can't leave her either then. Have you seen where she's gone to?"

Nearly Headless Nick merely eyed him in surprised silence at that bit. As Harry sighed to pass in mild annoyance, he spoke. "She's in Gryffindor Tower," he said. "She's been there for quite a while, too. She requested to be left alone, but I haven't seen her leave there at least."

Harry gratefully nodded, ascending the stairs blindly to his common room. He wondered how little would remain of those dark red comfortable armchair, the feeling of coziness; of home. He couldn't imagine it, didn't wish to. Neither did he wish to imagine the state in which Minerva McGonagall had been sitting there for some hours now, if it meant as much to her… which it definitely did. No matter the reluctance with which those images slowly became fact, he knew that was his destination. He needed to get to her, both physically… and emotionally.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Harry wasn't surprised to see the portrait of the Grey Lady abandoned. He pondered for a moment over what to do, then concluded Minerva McGonagall had very likely passed without password, too. _How_ , though? The entrance behind the large portrait could only be revealed with magic, or so he thought. "I'm Harry Potter. I would like to enter," Harry spoke in a low voice, but… nothing happened. He sighed. "Come on," he said. "I know that Professor McGonagall is in there now, too. I don't mean harm; I wanted to make sure she's fine, that's all."

His olive green eyes widened as the Grey Lady's portrait actually swung aside on its hinges, revealing a hole large enough to let him through.

He stood in wonder at first at all the damage. He could have guessed, of course. Gryffindor House was hated most by Death Eaters and maybe Slytherins in all. Nothing seemed to be intact anymore. He swore he could hear a sob from between the rubble, though. He stepped further into the room. "Professor McGonagall?" No sound. Then again, he hadn't expected her to answer anyway.

He walked still a bit further and saw her then, curled into a ball, leaning against the back of what was once a couch, seemingly lost in thought. "It isn't safe here," she said, unmoving.

"I know," Harry replied. "That's why I came to begin with. It isn't safe here for you either." He doubted for a moment, then gently laid his warm hand upon her left shoulder. She flinched at once, and he thus intended to take his hand away, not wanting to overstep McGonagall's boundaries, but then she suddenly relaxed and he changed his mind. He tenderly stroked his thumb back and forth across her shoulder, letting his hand remain where it lay… somehow hoping to convince her that they were fine, that he wouldn't do anything against her wishes but hoped she would just let him be there for her. He didn't know how much of that came actually across with that little gesture.

"I'm not going," she said.

Harry couldn't keep the smile from passing over his lips. He really hadn't expected her to react otherwise. She was incredibly stubborn; a Gryffindor. "Then I'm not either," Harry said. She finally redirected her gaze, eyeing him, nostrils flared. She said no word, though. He sat down on the ruined couch, keeping his hand upon her shoulder. He gently squeezed it.

She sighed, her hand covering his. It… alarmed him. She never would have showed that sort of nearly tenderness if she hadn't been very close to going down to pieces. Her hand trembled slightly, too. He wished that he could just… hold her against him, let her cry the tears he knew must be threatening to spill again soon anyhow. He wished he could do much more than he really was doing. "All has been ruined," she said, and he could hear the whimper in her voice. It surely pained him to see her that way. "I don't even know where to–"

"Shh," he soothed. "It will be fine. Why don't you come sit on the couch; I reckon that it will be slightly more comfortable than that cold floor?"

She merely shook her head at that suggestion. "I'm okay," she said.

He sighed at that comment, letting go of her shoulder and extending his hands both for her to take. He doubted that she could lift herself from the cold floor alone without pain. "Please, humor me," he said, glad that seemed to do it, for she took hold of both his hands, leaning upon them to lift herself and sit down beside him on the old couch, on the edge of the ruined cushion and turned away from him slightly. Harry eyed her closely now. She looked rather lost, forlorn. Her eyes appeared red and puffy as he had seen them at St. Mungo's, her lips were slightly parted and rather pale in color to their usual pinkish taint. He wondered where the Hell that had come from, even if only in his own mind. How had he concluded their usual color, unless…?

"You shouldn't have left St. Mungo's," he said. "I doubt that you were ready to go."

She just shrugged her shoulders; it tore at his heart seeing her like this. Of course, _no one_ could be tough always. Still, it was weird to see the Head of Gryffindor House, soon headmistress, like that. She had never been anything else but brave. Then again, sometimes it was brave to show the pain you felt, too. In her case it was a very brave thing to do – although he suspected that she, most likely, wasn't giving in to it fully intentionally, and would have given basically anything to be able to hold it in, at least with him.

He wanted to hold her, tell her that she shouldn't hide any of these tears. He just… couldn't. So instead, his right hand fell to her hip, and he told her, "It'll all be all right. All will be rebuilt, in time. We'll bundle all our strengths and rebuild it like it was before the battle. We'll get Hogwarts to its fully glory again, together." He gently stroked her hip. "Please, don't feel like you have to do it alone. No one is asking you or expecting you to. You can't rebuild what a whole herd of others ruined alone. No one ever would blame you."

"Others?" she wondered. "I have taken down a fair few hallways myself. Besides, I would."

"I know," he replied, gently squeezing her hip, urging McGonagall to just lean back, against him. To his great surprise, she did. He felt like the lion of Gryffindor himself roared in him, with triumph. Harry rubbed her side as she did in reassurance, absentmindedly kissing her shoulder, leaning his head against it and realizing his grave mistake only as she tensed. His heart began to race. He wanted to pull away; but couldn't, the feel of her in his arms…

He half expected her to pull away first, soon… He half expected her to scold him for his unwarranted touch, for his overstepping her professorial boundaries, which she definitely was bound to still see intact between them, no matter if he had left the school, left her, and hadn't been in her class for close to one full year.

The mistake had been made, no matter if he pulled back at this realization anymore. He wished that he had just thought, prior to giving in to his own needs to feel her against him, let the heady scent of her familiar perfume fill his flared nostrils and make his mind fuzzy. It felt as if the mere realization of how very much she meant to him had opened flood gates, strengthening those feelings only, to the point of losing control, becoming foolish.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

To Harry's great surprise, she began to relax after just a few more seconds. Both Gryffindors remained in the awkward embrace for a bit longer, enjoying it. At least, he did. He just hoped she did, too. It felt… safe, right, comfortable, warm: generally nice. He wanted to never let go of her anymore. He wanted to hold her forever in his arms, but he never wanted it all to be against her wishes either. With that one thought, he let go of her… muttering sorry.

She looked over her shoulder at him, head shaking. "I… needed that," she admitted.

He knew that this was a huge admission, for Minerva McGonagall at least. She never easily admitted to needing another in any way. He never could have imagined her doing just that prior to the battle. He knew without needing to ask she had held on so bad when Snape had ruled the school, when the Carrows had tortured the pupils. He wondered whether they had ever tortured the professors who didn't go with it as well. If so, she must have gotten tortured very often.

"I… know," he said.

He supposed that a little flitter of his thoughts must have shown in his eyes or other ways; concern showed in teal green eyes, and her voice was ever so soft as she spoke. "What's bothering you, Harry?"

Harry's heart ached upon hearing his name fall from her lips that way; not his last name as usual, but the name given to him by Lily and James. He realized that he never had known who had suggested it or how they had come to name him Harry. He would have liked to know, suddenly wondered whether maybe they had always spoken of having a boy be named Harry and if they had always had a name ready for a baby girl as well or not. He wondered whether they had known the gender of their son before birth, if they had not rather wanted to have a girl instead. He shook himself from those never-ending thoughts he would never get an answer on anyway. Sirius maybe might have known; Remus, too. He sighed, shaking his head at Minerva McGonagall. "I'm okay," he said. "I got lost in thoughts, that's all."

"What thoughts?" Harry visibly swallowed. He should have expected that she would ask that. She would find his honest answer ridiculous, he knew, though. He could imagine the shock on the elder woman's face and in those eyes being told the truth from him. "Harry?" He sighed; he knew that she would not let this go.

"I just…" he began. "I just wish I could hold you more often. I came this close to seeing you on the floor of the Great Hall between the others cold and unmoving; I can't imagine it."

"Harry, the war's over now. I'm alive; so don't worry over an old woman like this."

"You're not old!" Harry argued. After all, Wizarding folk aged slower than Muggles. You could see it in their appearance. Sure, she didn't look like twenty anymore or even thirty, but he doubted anyone ever would guess her to be close to seventy. He himself only knew due to having seen her birth date upon the back of one of those Chocolate Frog cards Ron collected – Ron had said she had been a hard one to find, and that therefore most didn't even know one existed of the new Hogwarts headmistress.

She smiled, then whispered. "I'm so proud of you. I'm proud to have been your Head of House and watch you become a man through the years. When Albus and I left you with those Dursleys, I never would have dared to even imagine; then when you came to Hogwarts and sheer dumb luck saved you so many times, I thought it wouldn't end well."

"You feared that I wouldn't be talented like maybe dad or mom."

"They were," Minerva admitted, a small smile upon her lips. "I didn't say that, though. I feared that those horrible Dursleys would _kill_ your magic. They were too normal in many ways, tried to be too Muggle. I nearly begged Albus to let you come with us to Hogwarts and raise you ourselves, but the Bond of blood was more powerful than we could offer, and Albus always feared Lord Voldemort would return."

Harry nodded, then smiled. He had never regretted his choice, begging the Sorting Hat not to let him be a Slytherin. He doubted whether he would have really been the same person as now, what with Snape as a Head of House, who had hated him all his life. He most likely wouldn't have remained there at Hogwarts long, having been kicked off in first years and if not definitely in second one after the flying Ford Anglia. "I'm very proud to have been Sorted in your House, too," he said. "You've taught me so much, let me on the Quidditch team and… There's so much I owe you."

"There isn't," Minerva McGonagall whispered, turning slightly more to face him. Her green eyes were filled with tenderness, with openness. They dragged him in, caught him… held him. "That was my job, as your professor and your Head of House."

Olive green met shimmering teal, and Harry Potter got lost, feeling his mouth go immediately dry, his hand reaching to support her chin. He felt himself lean over to Minerva McGonagall, and he couldn't just stop it in any way, and she wasn't moving away from him either. His eyes fluttered closed, the passion in the moment rising high. Then her lips met his, and they were so soft, slightly wet and slightly parted, and… and right.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

At first, their lips barely touched, and he gently moved his hand, his thumb ghosting over her cheekbone, fingers teasing her jaw, lightly beckoning her to capitulate. He thought he heard Minerva whimper as his lips moved across hers gently at first, hers beginning to move against his soon… and he felt atop of the world. He felt lost in the moment, as if _everything_ else, time included, had just… stopped. He could hear the blood rush in his ears, nothing else. Every other sound had gone mute with the touch of her lips against Harry's. His mind had gone into the gutter; no worry, _nothing_ crossed his otherwise bothered mind when she kissed him – nothing but the sensation of _her_ lips. Wandless magic.

His lips moved against hers for a few heart beats longer, and he wished that it would never stop for as long he lived. Kissing Ginny had been nice enough, but this left him… wordless, breathless. If he died right now, he would die happily. The intense vigor with which she returned his kiss… Oh, Merlin's beard. Lips parted under insistent longing from both sides to taste one another better, and _more_ … as fingers drifted across soft skin into silky once ebony hair that tickled his hand, wisps flittering from the tight bun at his touch. Tongues delved into wet depths, easily meeting each other, curling and uncurling again, tenderly stroking and dancing… coming to a halt when they both began to need air. They were both flushed, eyeing each other panting heavily. "I'm s–" Harry began. Minerva smiled; she wasn't.

Both Gryffindors parted slightly, the moment having passed. He had no idea what Minerva thought. He had expected her to scold, be furious. Instead, she smiled. With his mind still in the gutter, Harry was too relieved about that to really care to wonder.

"We better leave the castle," he said, eyes falling upon the great rubble once again, suddenly remembering what the ghost of Gryffindor Tower had said, and even Minerva herself when Harry had arrived. He could see the evidence well in any way, too. "It isn't safe here right now," he repeated, hoping to be slight more convincing this time.

Her smile suddenly disappeared. He wasn't too surprised. "I refuse to return to St. Mungo's," she said, tone fiercer than he had heard in a little while. She obviously didn't like hospitals. He knew far better than arguing over this. He couldn't win the verbal fight either way, as opposed to her eloquence undoubtedly strengthened by her stubbornness on the matter at hand. He hadn't come here to argue anyway or to fight. He wanted the best for Minerva; that was truly all.

"Do you still require any particular sort of care?" Harry wondered. The thought of the staff just having let her leave there without telling her to do this or that as after care seemed somehow impossible. The look of slight annoyance that fleetingly passed her regal features told him even more than enough. "No medication?" he tried, looking at the elder witch with curious olive green eyes.

"A gel of sorts," she admitted, then sighed. "The nurses fear that my spine is bruised still and may require further attention. Nonsense, of course. I will still be fine without all that. Plus, it isn't that my spine is so easily reached." She lightly rolled her eyes, and he really had to refrain from laughing at that, despite it actually being rather serious.

"Well," he said when they had both not really spoken in a little while. It wasn't that the silence became uncomfortable. "I've left the Weasleys and am living at Grimmauld Place. After all, I inherited it. You're more than welcome to stay there as well. There no one, but me… and Kreacher, but he doesn't cause any trouble whatsoever. He cooks and cleans, and he's quite kind. The house is large enough, too; you could have a whole floor all to yourself if you wanted. There's a library, from which you could read. Please, don't feel obliged. I just… The offer's just there, all right?"

_Yeah…_ He seriously wondered what by Merlin's long and grey beard was going on with him, to offer her to stay at Grimmauld Place after just having kissed her, and wanting to do it again. If he wanted to torture himself senseless, this was a good way to go. He mentally cursed himself. Impulsive was a word that might do him rights, describing him to a T sometimes.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

He had gone knocking at Minerva's bedroom door at about eleven-thirty – her bedroom being the room which she occupied while at Grimmauld Place with him. He hadn't seen her of the whole morning, so Harry had been just a little worried. She had somehow never seemed to be the sort of person who wasted a lot of time while asleep – more someone always awake at an unreasonably early hour, chipper no matter what hours of sleep she might have or not have gotten.

Minerva had taken him on his offer the night prior after a moment of bearable silence, finally nodding and saying that all right, she could accept that. She had even taken his hand as he stood and naturally offered it to help her upright with a little smile. Then she had followed beside him as they both left the Gryffindor common room and the ruined castle in silence, taking his hand as he extended it to her once the wards had been passed and they had reached the edge of Hogsmeade, from where Apparition was possible as well.

He had said he expected she remembered most of Grimmauld Place still and that she was free to use any room she wanted, for he would continue to use the living room to sleep. Unsurprisingly, she had gone to the room that had been hers sometimes when she had been at Grimmauld Place after a night of watching, coming in at night and early morning often.

She hadn't responded in any way, though, so he had left her bedroom door again, telling himself to try again at dinner time. Kreacher hadn't been happy to hear the guest wasn't coming down at lunch. He hadn't been mad – mostly disappointed and sad, Harry guessed. He had reminded him a bit of Dobby when he said that Minerva wasn't coming down, continuing with Harry's lunch with his large ears hanging. While Dobby had caused him to sigh often, he actually missed him… a lot. After all, the Elf had saved their lives at Malfoy Manor… and paid for it, too. He even missed that shrill voice.

All afternoon, Harry wondered over what she might be doing upstairs. Was she considering a way to tell him coming here had been a mistake? Was she pondering over their kiss, ways to tell him kindly that was quite a mistake, too – a gesture that was never even supposed to happen and never should again? Maybe she would rather go to St. Mungo's than to stay at Grimmauld Place anyway or happily risk Hogwarts…

She rather surprised him therefore, coming down at about five pm, when dinner had usually been served as she still remembered from when the Order had used the building for Headquarters. She had come to find him reading in the living room, asking if he had any thoughts about dinner and that she could possibly throw some items together if not. No, Harry had said, Kreacher would be happy to do the cooking for them.

He hadn't asked what Minerva had been doing all day, hadn't asked any questions really. Instead, he had gone to the old kitchens in order to tell the House-Elf Minerva had finally come down, and they would like some dinner. Kreacher had already begun to bustle about by the time he finished, saying that their dinner would be served in twenty.

Harry had returned to the living room, informing Minerva of this, then moving to the couch and reaching for the thin book he had begun reading. She had followed suit, moving to the bookcase and letting her teal green eyes run over the titles of the many books before taking one she thought would be interesting and settling beside Harry quietly in another armchair, no word being spoken between them until Kreacher appeared in the living room to inform both Gryffindors that dinner was ready.

They had just finished soup, while Kreacher finished frying the chicken, having apologized so many times for taking so long already, with Harry always assuring him that it was all right.

He quietly eyed the headmistress. "How are you today?" he wondered. "Have you had a good night's sleep here?"

Her teal green met his more olive color of eyes, and she waited a little prior to replying. "I'm fine," she said. "I'm definitely returning to myself again, which I am surely glad about. The bed was far more comfortable than those at St. Mungo's, too. I'm afraid that I might have gotten too used to the size of a double one – which I had at Hogwarts as well."

Harry nodded, interrupted by Kreacher arriving with the fried chicken and rice, hurrying back and forth to get the curry sauce, and a pitcher of white wine the small House-Elf thought they might enjoy with it. He disappeared to their thanking words, leaving them to continue the rest of dinner in absolute silence.

Harry finished first, remaining seated until she had, too. Then, he stood, Minerva following suit and revealing her wand, intending to clear away their dishes, when Kreacher appeared again, offering to take care of it all himself instead, muttering about how magic always left the dishes duller than doing them manually.

"Very well," Minerva said in a calm voice. "I'm sorry." She then nodded at Kreacher and at Harry, turning to leave the rather large kitchen undoubtedly to return to her chosen bedroom for now.

He thought for a second, following her into the dark hallway. "Professor, wait!" She halted right away. "H– How's your spine?"

"I'm fine," she said.

Harry sighed deeply. Why hadn't he expected that answer… "I'll only be convinced once I have seen it with my own two eyes."

"Fine then."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

To say that he had been very surprised with Minerva's response, was being too kind.

He never could have been any less shocked to see the bruises littering the elder witch's spine, thinning in both size and multitude from her pelvis to between her shoulders. His right hand merely hovered over the elder witch's marred skin. He couldn't get himself to touch it, afraid he would hurt her no matter how soft and gentle that he intended to be – which was indeed weird, given how he had longed to run both hands across that pale, milky white and seemingly silky soft skin.

It definitely was a mystery to him, how McGonagall had let him see her naked back; how she had inclined her head to the stairs and then lead Harry to her room there, him following her rather stupidly. She had sat down on the bed slowly, mechanically undoing her dress buttons, shimmying her arms from the sleeves while holding the fabric against her bosom so that he couldn't see more than he had asked. When the skin had seemed too unmarred – too much so to begin questioning the Healers at St. Mungo's – Harry had waved his want at it, the purple bluish color of her many bruises slowly appearing as Minerva's carefully cast Glamour Charm wore off right under his eyes. He had remembered the charm and its counter-charm from Hermione, who had used it often to hide the scar that Bellatrix Lestrange had carved into her arm. His wand fell from between his fingers as he gazed at her in shock. She had looked over her shoulder – shocked, too. When he had stated the bruises seemed very painful and had asked after the gel, she had said she was fine and that the gel was quite unnecessary. How he had even managed to convince Minerva to give him the gel and to let him rub it upon her painful bruises by saying that he would feel better if she let him, was quite a mystery, too.

She _tss_ -ed as his usually warm fingers, now cooled with the white gel, touched her marred spine, ghosting over it barely only. She winced as he continued to spread the cool cream, extending his free left hand for her to take and squeeze when desired and to his great surprise, she grabbed it right away. He tried small conversation, in hopes to get her occupied mind off of the undoubtedly intense pain. He didn't like hurting Minerva at all… "What happened to cause that much damage upon your back?"

"I…" She winced; he felt it upon his fingers, too. "A hallway collapsed atop… of me," she finished, breathless upon struggling to respond. He wished he had not asked, nearly wanting to tell her that she didn't have to answer now when she continued. "I miscalculated. I only intended to hurt the D– Death Eater, not myself… but the whole corridor came down, ins– instead of just a part, due to its instability, already having suffered so many curses deflected against it… Professor Flitwick freed me. A rib is rather easy to mend; a spine is more difficult. Otherwise… ah, I'm fine." That was nearly as much as admitting her spine wasn't. He was at least glad her speech had gotten better in those last couple of heart beats. He suspected that the gel had a sort of painkilling or maybe numbing effect.

Harry's hand retracted, the salve now having disappeared deep into her milky white and soft skin, and Minerva immediately let go of his other as if burned, too. He felt his mouth go dry slowly, watching his hand as it rose to meet her hip, ghosting higher. Harry waited until she stopped him, for her to jerk away at his unwarranted touch. He knew that he was moving in dangerous territory, _unpermitted_ territory. He just… couldn't help himself. He needed to feel Minerva. "You're so beautiful," he whispered.

Surprisingly, Minerva McGonagall never even stopped him. He stopped himself when he came dangerously close to her bosom. He listened to the sound of her breathing – definitely ragged. He wondered whether she could feel the great intensity of this little moment or if he were just alone in experiencing that. "I'm not," she whispered, her voice sounding slightly weird, as if close on the verge of tears.

"You are," Harry argued. "I wish I could touch every inch of you, could kiss you everywhere…"

Minerva's eyes gently fluttered closed. "That does really sound…" She shook her head, eyes opening. "I'm old, Harry. I'm much older than you – close to half a century. I can't begin to imagine what would be said about us. Rita Skeeter would be absolutely thrilled, I reckon," she said, then sighed.

"… doesn't matter," Harry murmured, his lips naturally finding hers. He reached for his wand between the folds of the duvet. He waved it into the air, words slurring against her mouth, "I have had to use this often while we were on the run from the Death Eaters and Snatchers," wand already slipped between his fingers. Having recognized the particular swish and flick of the spell, Minerva smiled at his thoughtfulness.

She held her dress tightly against her even as she awkwardly straddled him, afraid of being seen, of not being satisfying. "You're beautiful," he repeated, slowly letting his warm hands stroke her sides, sensing the battle raging in her head, feeling her withhold somehow – Harry really wished that she wouldn't do so. He could feel her firm thighs beside his own; he could feel her weight settle across his middle. He groaned, unable to keep the kiss gentle and innocent longer… His tongue slipped into her wet mouth, meeting hers… letting them _dance_ together. Her hands moved to rest above his shoulders, finally letting go of the dress.

Clothes got shed somehow as they continued to kiss like there would be no tomorrow… hands stroking down her sides, palming the slight weight of her full globes. By the time they became one, they were both moaning… both ready. Gone were all doubts of being too old, being unattractive. Gone were all worries about Rita Skeeter and others. She had never felt beautiful in the last couple of years anymore, and now Harry Potter was making that happen.

She leaned upon both arms, slowly moving atop of him. She hadn't done this in a while, though. When Harry began to suspect she was hurting, her arms lightly shivering from exertion (but noticeably), he gently stilled her, rolling her over into the softened pillows and mattress. When she opened her mouth to argue over a matter not worth fighting over once again – Harry had a good idea – he tenderly shushed her with his parted lips upon hers.

He began to move very slowly within her wet, tight sheath, lips ghosting barely over her jaw, her neck… moving down. He immediately felt the loss of her as he let himself slip from within her, but his mind was occupied… his lips, too, as they followed her gentle flush down, letting his tongue trail over her collarbones and bosom and nipples. By the time he reached her sex, she had begun to arch against his lips, his tongue, begging for him not to tease anymore. Her fingers had caught into his always unruly hair. He didn't need to be guided, though. He was doing fine between her spread legs, tongue trailing between her folds, lips kissing down the edge of her pussy, tongue lapping at her wetness, lips suckling at her clit as her tongue teased the underside.

A finger slid halfway into her sex as he continued licking and sucking, continuously alternating between them. Her thighs began to shiver, her exhales of air ragged. "Oh! Ah… Please," she begged to let him send her over the edge into oblivion. Minerva came apart no more than a second after, tightening on his finger, spasming as the strength of her climax ran through her much like a current. He couldn't care less that he hadn't come now, seeing her that way more than satisfying enough.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Harry Potter slowly moved his arm over his closed eyelids, shielding himself from the morning sun, which peeked its persistent way in through the dark green curtains that had adorned that room's windows for however long. Harry wouldn't have been surprised to find it had been over a century. The curtains would be first on his list of changes. He had no idea what time it could be at all, but he guessed that it wasn't late yet.

"Good morning."

Harry smiled right away as he heard her voice. His gaze moved to Minerva, lying half across his torso, an arm carelessly draped over him and her teal green eyes open and clear. Her long ebony and graying tresses tickled his bare skin. He never could have possibly guessed the length of it, until it had come down in his hands after having banished the pins away the night before. "Good morning," he whispered. "You've been awake for long?" Her head quietly shook. He stifled a yawn with his hand, the other remaining cradling Minerva against him. Now he finally had her, he wasn't about to let go of her soon. "What time is it?" he wondered.

"Five-thirty," she replied. He didn't ask how she knew; she didn't say more herself either.

Harry shifted to his side, facing her, becoming serious. "I didn't hurt you last night?"

Minerva's head shook once more. "No, you didn't," she replied, shushing him by laying her fingers across his lips as he tried to speak. "You were… great," she said. "I haven't felt like that in quite a while. I do admire your thoughtfulness in being careful, especially given your own needs, but I can take rougher when I'm more myself, too."

He gently kissed her. "You do make me curious… You took care of those needs well later, though."

She smiled against his lips, feeling more at peace than had been possible in the last horrid months. "Well, I'm a teacher."

"A very good one, too," he said, the tips of his fingers tenderly trailing her cheek. "I kick in my sleep sometimes – well, very often. I'm a rather restless sleeper. I certainly hope I didn't hit you," he whispered, eying her and the way that the early rays of sunshine shimmered off of her milky white cheekbones, her teal green eyes. She looked like an angel… his angel, and that moment is when he really knew that he wanted to wake beside this woman again, for the rest of his life, regardless of age or other stupid futilities.

"You were quite still," Minerva assured him. She sighed, eyes closing.

"You're hurting," Harry stated, seeing the way in which her forehead wrinkled and recognizing it at once. "I'll have to rub that salve on your back again," he said, worry visible on his features.

Minerva's head shook. "I'll be fine," she said. "I just usually… don't sleep with anyone three times younger, never mind someone who has been one of my pupils until very recently. Then again… I don't usually sleep with anyone at all. I don't know what has come over me. I really don't."

"Do you regret it?"

"No. No, that scares me the most of all."

"Would you like if we never had last night repeated?" Harry wondered, internally dreading the answer. He could see the cogs turning slowly in her head…

"I'm not sure," Minerva eventually concluded. "I haven't been in a relationship in many years, and I don't _usually_ jump into anything like this. The battle is still fresh in everyone's memories; Hogwarts is still so ruined. It doesn't feel like we're rushing, doesn't feel anything less but right, but… it wouldn't look like that to others."

"Who cares?" Harry whispered. "This is between us, not the rest of the Wizarding world or Muggle one included. I'm rather confused as well, but I do know… I love you, more than I ever could have loved Ginny; deeper than I ever could have loved Ginny. I've never felt like this, last night. I can't _not_ love you. I'm afraid that I can't _not_ wish to be with you every second of every day, and wake beside you every morning from now."

When she said nothing, Harry slipped from beneath the covers, gently kissing her lips, and announced he would go have a shower. Without thought, she slipped from the bed as well after a couple of heart beats, wrapping the sheet about her despite them being alone there, and followed Harry into the adjoined bathroom.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"I'm sorry," Minerva whispered. She laid her cheek against his back as her hands moved to his torso.

He turned into her arms, water beating down on them both. "I'm sorry, too," he whispered, burying his nose in her hair, hands moving gently over those milky sides as he had learned she liked. He kissed her lips, unconsciously pushing her against the wall of the old shower as their tongue's embrace deepened.

The feel of the cold shower wall against her back and the fact that she was mostly from beneath the water stream with him halfway under it still, caused immediate gooseflesh to rise upon her skin, caused her nipples to erect… that and the hand cupping her left globe gently, his tongue thrusting into her mouth in a close imitation of how his hardness had within her sheath just one night before. She could feel herself go lightheaded. "Please… fuck me," she managed between her panting breathing, surprising herself and him with that sort of language. It indeed rarely crossed Minerva's lips.

The thought of her bruised spine withheld him, no matter how badly he really wanted to find release in this woman now. She was so beautiful, so…

He carefully took her leg, hooking it over his hip… watching for her to make any motion or sign which meant she hurt. It did not come. The water did make the touch very slippery, though; therefore he had to keep his hold on her leg. She was clinging to him, too. Her hands had found his broad shoulders, as his lips moved to her throat and continued to kiss with all vigor he had. "Please, just…" she begged once more, voice breathless, feeling his hardness against her, rather than inside her.

"To the bedroom then," he murmured, unwilling to continue this any longer with her pressed against a cold shower wall that would not be beneficial at all for her back.

"I'm not sure when you turned in this incredibly sensible and fine man, but…"

"I love you, that's why," he whispered, gently kissing her temple.

"I– Oh, damn it… I love you, too!"

* * *

**~~ Finite Incantatem ~**


End file.
